First Date
by manitounell
Summary: In my previous story, Zane asked Jo on a date. I wanted to know how it went. This story is what happened next.


_**First Date**_

Warning: Serious fluff. Kitchen curtain fic, only without the kitchen. Or the curtains. My hopelessly romantic self roaming free and unfettered. The astringent, if you need one, lies in knowing what happens soon after, at the end of "This One Time at Space Camp."

* * *

_**Miss me?**_

Jo glared sleepily at the text on her phone. The irritating ringtone – the chorus to the Talking Heads _And She Was_ – and God was she going to change that soon – had roused her from the last of her slow morning doze.

It was from Zane. Of course. Even on mornings when she didn't wake up next to him, he was still _everywhere._

Fumbling one handed to answer, the phone slipped from her fingers and fell with a small thump onto the carpet. Swearing under her breath, she ended up hanging precariously off the edge of her mattress, clinging to the headboard with one hand and extending her other arm to her fullest reach to get her fingers around the slithery thing. Phone in hand, she collapsed into the pillows after levering herself back onto the bed, lightheaded from the swooping head rush that left her empty stomach lurching uncomfortably.

Idiot.

She stabbed at the tiny keypad with her thumbs.

_**You wish**_

_**Someone's grumpy today**_

Zane, old or new, had the very disagreeable habit of coming fully awake as soon as he opened his eyes.

Jo… did not.

She glanced at the time. 7:30am. Not his usual weekend preference. Which didn't stop him from feeling quite free to text her at dawn o'clock on a Saturday morning, knowing full well he was probably waking her up.

_**Why r u awake?**_

_**Compiler finished running an hour ago. At GD now.**_

_**How late did you work?**_

_**Was home 1**_

That could mean anything from 12:30am to 1:59am. If he started a new compiling process before he left, probably later than earlier.

_**Will you be at GD all day?**_

_**No. 2 hrs max. Then gym. Still want to see a movie tonight?**_

Her heart immediately began pounding in her chest. Her fingers started to tingle. Her empty stomach knotted up.

She almost dropped the phone again, trying to type her answer. Which she misspelled three times before she got it right.

_**Yes**_

_**5pm movie w dinner after?**_

_**Sounds good**_

_**What time should we leave E?**_

_**No later than 3:15**_

_**Ok. Pick you up at SARAH at 3**_

_**See you then**_

Jo waited to see her text had been read, then sagged back, letting the phone fall to her chest. Her arms were limp and a sudden sweat cooled her skin. As though she'd just finished a grueling training course.

Training for what, was the question.

* * *

Jo frowned at the price tag. That was way more money than she intended to spend.

She carefully placed the handsome leather tote bag back on the display table. She would find something more affordable, and far more versatile, at the sporting goods store.

Her fingers lingered despite her intentions. The heavy, rich, black leather sliding like oiled satin under her touch. She'd had a similar bag once before. A gift from her grandfather, after she graduated from flight school. Like so much else in her life. Gone now.

She turned for the door, only to find the woman who ran Eureka's lone high-end lady's boutique hovering with an anticipatory smile.

Jo had spent far too much money here over the last few months. She didn't need a lot of suits, but she needed enough to have a spare handy on any given day. After Larry blew up her house, she'd dropped a bundle in a hurry to get her work wardrobe back up to speed. She'd run the numbers on a trip to Portland so she could go to the fancy malls there. But, once she factored in gas, a hotel and food, not to mention time and effort, Charlene's prices started to look – if not reasonable, exactly, then a premium worth paying.

Later, when she was ready to replace her lingerie collection, she'd begun with online shopping, for cost and privacy. But was too aggravating to keep ordering things that didn't fit or weren't flattering once they arrived. Not that she was being ridiculously picky. Because she totally was not. It had also involved a complicated private deal with SARAH to keep her from blabbing. Or from offering any further perkily helpful – not! – commentary.

She'd gone back to Charlene's. Charlene had excellent taste and a good eye for what her customers would like. Jo still tried to disguise the purchases by blending them with other things. A third suit. Some new blouses. Another pair of boots. All of which she was very happy with, so, not a total loss.

She was quite happy with the lingerie, too.

Charlene was probably not so easily misled. Jo resigned herself to knowing Charlene surely used her insider knowledge to rake in some easy cash in the various pools at Vincent's. To Jo's face, of course, Charlene was too good a businesswoman to do anything other than graciously accept Jo's hard earned money.

That, though, Charlene had grown quite accustomed to.

"It's a lovely bag." Charlene's smile was warm and encouraging.

"Yes. It is." Jo shrugged. Nonchalantly, she hoped. "But more than I need."

"What are you looking for?" Charlene asked brightly.

Something to carry toiletries and a change of clothes, Jo thought. Jo said, "Something that looks good, but will hold all those random things you end up with when you're travelling. Book, tablet, magazine, scarf, umbrella, water bottle, you know."

Fresh blouse, clean underwear, spare socks, hairbrush. Negligée.

"Plus your actual purse!" Charlene laughed a polite, understanding laugh.

Or a Dopp kit.

"Exactly."

"Well," Charlene picked up the black bag, her own fingers pausing to stroke the leather as she opened the zipper, which made a very satisfying, solid sound, "this would be perfect. It's a good size, but not too big to fit under an airline seat or carry on one arm, opens up fully so it's easy to get things in and out of it, and to see what you've got without too much rooting around. And you can close it completely, so if it gets dropped, nothing falls out."

"And it's beautiful."

Jo heard the wistfulness in her own voice, and knew she was lost.

Charlene heard it too, and had the grace to smile sympathetically. "Yes. It is."

* * *

The too expensive, too lovely bag wrapped in a ridiculous amount of tissue for something that was supposed to be used to carry other things stowed in her backseat, Jo headed off to her home construction site.

It was a weekly trip, and one of late that was mostly a catalogue of how little had happened since the last time she was there.

Fargo had fast-tracked the first rebuild for her, but the second could not compete with the demands the Astreaus project was making on Eureka's engineering and construction teams.

Progress was a nonexistent as she anticipated, so she headed for the gym. Astreaus training was ongoing. Today was a weight-training day.

* * *

"What's in the bag?" Zane nodded in the direction of her new tote, dangling casually, she hoped, from her fingers.

Jo raised her brow. "I assumed there was an implied sleepover invite." She shrugged with elaborate disinterest. "My mistake."

She swung her new bag over the back of the couch and let go, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and smiled. "Ready?"

Zane made a face at her, somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Then he stepped unnecessarily close to lean over the sofa to retrieve the bag, brushing up against her as he did. Straightening up, her bag securely in his own grip, he managed to be well inside her space, his free hand skimming easily over her hip to pull her flush against him. His lips against her ear, he murmured, "No mistake, Lupo."

She lifted her chin, and didn't step back. Instead she slid her eyes to his mouth, her heartbeat accelerating as she did, then curled the corner of her lips up into a crooked grin when she finally dragged her gaze up to his eyes. Which were already hooded and dark as he stared back at her lips. "No?" she said.

His smile, when he caught her gaze as he tilted his head to kiss her, was all Zane. Cocky, confident, charming. Electric.

So was his kiss. And the second. And the third. And then there was no more pause, and no more counting. Just him. His body solid and steady as she slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders.

He smelled clean, like his soap and freshly washed clothes, and he tasted faintly minty, like his toothpaste, but mostly like himself. His hair, when she threaded her fingers through it, was still damp from his shower.

His mouth was hot on hers. The heat from his hand, up her back, under her jacket, burned through her sweater. The edge of his belt buckle pressed against her stomach. Somewhere, deep inside, her lizard brain was beginning to shout, 'too many clothes! Too many clothes!'

She pulled herself further up onto her toes, as far up into his arms as she could, the better to kiss him back, their familiar eager dance of lips and tongue and teeth easy and sweet and so, so good. And she was thinking. Trying too. Scattered thoughts. Like, how a seven o'clock movie would really serve just as well. Or, maybe even a matinee tomorrow. After all it was the intention that counted, right?

"Why don't you return here tonight, so Jo doesn't always have to be the one to rush home to change?" SARAH's disembodied voice echoed faintly in the quiet room.

Jo would have jerked away. A deeply suppressed sense memory of Carter catching her making out with Zane in the front closet during Zoe's long-ago party shooting through her and setting off an ancient fight or flight instinct. Just like before, Zane didn't even let go. He merely raised his head to look quizzically at SARAH's main camera. A courtesy he was one of the few to always remember to offer. "SARAH?"

"Yes, Zane?"

"You know tomorrow is Sunday, right?"

"Yes."

He looked at Jo. "Were you planning to rush home first thing in the morning?"

Jo was completely disgruntled. Fine time for SARAH to go all sisterhood-of-the-travelling-pants. "No, I was not." She twisted to look at the camera. "What's going on SARAH?"

"You used to stay here." SARAH managed to sound both hurt and wheedling. For an AI, she had the manipulative skills of a particularly adorable eight year old. "Now you never do."

"You mean I used to sneak in and out in the middle of the night." Zane relaxed his hold on Jo and took half a step away from her, yielding to the apparently inescapable conversation. "With your help, of course." He flashed one of his more sincere grins and tipped his head in SARAH's direction.

SARAH didn't blush or giggle, because she couldn't. But there was a pause that managed extraordinarily well to approximate both. "It was my pleasure to assist."

"And we are both very grateful." Jo made her tone as quelling as possible. Irked that Zane could charm just about anyone when he set his mind to it. Amused, in an irritated sort of way, by the irony of SARAH's interruption sidelining the very thing she apparently wanted to encourage. Wishing that there were any way for SARAH to interpret metaphorical eye lasers. The kind that said 'shut up already!'

Unfortunately, SARAH's algorithms were just not that sensitive for non-verbal cues at odds with verbal communications.

SARAH did not shut up.

"Deputy Andy always comes to me, even though I could reach him wherever he plugged into the landlines. And Sheriff Carter is extremely scrupulous to make sure that he spends as much time at Dr. Blake's home as they spend here. But you have not done the same for Jo."

SARAH managed to sound both reproving and virtuous.

Jo wanted to sink through the floor. She knew SARAH had to be reacting to several recent-ish mornings of muttered ranting on her part, as she rushed through a quick shower and change of clothes. But this was so not cool.

The skin along Zane's cheekbones was starting to flush, though, judging from the twinkle in his eyes it was from suppressed laughter, not shame. Because of course he would think this was funny.

"Exactly," he said. "With you and Deputy Andy, and Carter and Blake, don't you think it's already a bit crowded here?"

Ever helpful, SARAH said, "It would be simple enough to work out a schedule."

"Okay. Stop." Jo dropped her arms and turned to fully face the room. "We are not going to work out a schedule. I am not going to participate in some sort of French farce, complete with slamming doors and mistaken identities."

"I would never mistake anyone's identity," SARAH all but huffed.

"In Eureka?" Jo folded her arms and raised her brows. She could actually remember a time or two when SARAH had in fact mistaken an identity. "Yes. It can and would happen."

"SARAH?" Zane said, putting a placating hand on Jo's shoulder, "Would you like us to come here for brunch tomorrow? We need to go now if we're going to make our movie, but we'd have plenty of time for a good visit then."

"Thank you, Zane." SARAH's voice oozed satisfaction. "That would be lovely."

* * *

"How did you know that would work?" Jo asked, while fastening her safety belt.

"I didn't." Zane shifted his SUV into reverse, looking over his shoulder as he gunned the engine into the three-point turn to get out of the driveway, stamping too hard on the brakes once he'd cleared the end of her own blue Subaru.

She fought the way momentum sucked her into her seat and then rocked her forward, swallowed her yelp of complaint, and bit her lip against any 'helpful' suggestions leaking out.

He shifted the car into drive with an abrupt jerk and a small slide of gravel, then set off down the driveway with a quick lurch. For someone who could be so careful with the delicate equipment he built and maintained for a living, he seemed to think cars had the durability and simplicity of pick axes. He really was a terrible driver.

He almost immediately lifted his foot and the SUV slowed to a more more sedate pace. She knew that was for her, a belated gesture of acknowledgement that she was in the car. She told herself to be happy that he was at least trying to accommodate her concerns. To forget that he'd already improved his skills once to please her, but then, through no fault of his own, forgotten.

He added, "SARAH is a sucker for company and a party. So it seemed like a good distraction."

"Even artificial women fall to your charms, hmm?"

Her tone was a bit squeakier than it needed to be, but she was ordering herself not to gasp or reach for the overhead grab handle. He took the turn from the drive onto the road far too quickly, the rotational forces leaving her swaying in her seat. Well past 'rolling stop' and straight on to 'almost no pause at all.' That the visibility was good and the road was clear was no excuse. If Jack had been around to issue the moving violation Zane so richly deserved.

Who was capable of driving them safely to Klamath Falls and back, all without wreck and ruin. She was totally positive. Totally.

If only he'd put both hands on the wheel.

"I was raised by my mom and my grandmother. I've had a lot of practice."

Jo made an agreeing sort of sound, unsure what to say. These moments still confounded her. She knew way more about Zane's life before Eureka, or, well, before prison now, than this version of him had told her. And he knew she knew. While he understood it intellectually, far better than she did in terms of the physics of it all, she also knew it stung, a little to a lot, depending on the issue, whenever he was reminded of it.

She changed the subject. "What movie are we going to see?"

He flashed her a grateful smile. "A couple of them start about the same time, so what do you like better? Romantic Comedy or Superheros?"

Jo was mildly surprised that he seemed completely open to either. Old Zane had been quite dismissive of 'chick flicks.' He would have chosen the superhero movie. He'd probably already have the tickets, just to be safe from any excess girl cooties.

Curious, she asked as neutrally as she could, "Do you have a preference?"

"No. I mean, superheroes are obviously fun, but I used to watch a lot of romantic comedies with my mom. Lots of romances in general really - so I'm pretty cool with them. She liked movies like that despite my dad being a raging disappointment. Or," he twisted his lips into something like rueful mockery, "maybe because he was."

"Really? Romances? No kidding?" She'd known a little about his dad, of course. But he never did talk much about life at home, before he started at MIT, despite being quite close to his mother.

He chuckled. "No kidding."

"Which ones did you like best?"

"Like everybody else, I like the classics. Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant or Spencer Tracey. Humphrey Bogart in _Casablanca_. Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. Almost anything with William Holden."

Jo was surprised into laughter. She would not have guessed in a billion years that he could even name drop film stars from Hollywood's Golden Age, much less remember their movies or co-stars. Almost every scifi movie ever made? Yes. But Classic Romance? "Seriously? You really like those old films?"

"Yeah. I do. Doesn't everyone, just about?"

"Well. No." Including a different version of himself, which she had no intention of bringing up now. Or ever. "I do, though. SARAH and I did a whole Katherine Hepburn/Cary Grant re-watch last fall."

When she was feeling particularly self-pitying about old Zane, actually. Not that she wanted to talk about that either. "Anything more recent?"

"I'm not a huge fan of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks or Billy Crystal. I like old John Cusak better. _Say Anything_. _High Fidelity_. _Grosse Pointe Blank_. And _Reality Bites_, of course."

"John Cusak?" She laughed again in surprised delight. "That explains the Lloyd Dobler hair!"

"What?" Zane sounded shocked. And a little offended. "I don't have Lloyd Dobler hair!"

"Not now!" she assured him. "Before. When you made it all stand straight up."

"I… That's…," he flailed for words. At last, straining for dignity, he said, "I was not trying to look like Lloyd Dobler."

She grinned at his squirming. "I thought you were incredibly cute."

"Cute." He sounded appalled, but he was smiling. Just a little.

"And adorable."

"Not hot? Or," he added plaintively, "at least, cool?"

"You made your hair stand straight up, like you'd been electrocuted or something."

"And yet, you went out with me."

"Yes. You swept me off my feet. Crazy hair and all."

"How did I do that?"

"Smiling at me. Bringing me flowers. And asking. Relentlessly."

"Sounds good." He glanced over at her briefly, his smile fading. "I'm sorry I can't remember it."

"I remember it for both of us."

She meant it to be light. She really did. But somehow the memory of a much younger Zane, his cheeks still soft and clean shaven, a corduroy sport coat hanging loosely off his then lanky frame, a single red rose in his hands and a smile so bright and hopeful it hurt to recall it, got stuck in her head. Her eyes filmed over, and she had to blink rapidly to clear them. Her voice was entirely too shaky by the time 'both of us' wavered out.

She wanted to curl into the seat and vanish. Unfortunately that wasn't actually possible, not without some sort of providential wormhole. Which of course they never were. It would also only serve to make it clear she'd violated their unspoken rule. The one that stipulated that all references to old timelines were to be humorous and/or scientifically minded. Nothing heavy. Ever.

She stared straight ahead and kept her chin raised.

After an uncomfortable beat, he said, "So, you probably already knew about my preference for golden age romances."

"Nope." She popped the 'p' and shook her head in relief. Finding things she didn't already know about him generally perked him right up. "You said you were all about action films, superhero films, disaster films… You rolled your eyes over anything that might be a 'chick flick'."

"Hmm. That's weird," he frowned, thoughtful but willing to be interested in the anomaly. "I've liked chick movies since I was a kid. I wonder if I was trying to be more butch for you?"

She had to mull that over for a moment, thinking back. "Maybe." It was her turn to wrinkle her nose in embarrassment. "You know – you made it pretty clear early on you really liked my butch act."

"I'm sure I did." She could hear his grin, "I still do."

"Ha." He couldn't see her eye roll, but she wanted him to hear it. "I perfected it, growing up with older brothers, and then in the service. I had the drill down cold. I mocked chick flicks too." She could feel her own cheeks heating and was suddenly glad he was driving. "Even though I've always liked them. When I was a tween I watched all of the John Hughes/Molly Ringwald movies so much I wore out the tapes."

He laughed outright at that. "Maybe we performed butch for each other?" he added, musing aloud.

Maybe they had. God, had they been a mess. No wonder she'd frozen in panic when he asked her to marry him. In a scene straight out of a romantic comedy, come to think of it. Right down to everything being ruined when Jack came bumbling in.

"I do really like action flicks and war movies, too," she assured him, "even fantasy and scifi. Except for alien invasion stories." She shuddered. "Hate those."

"What's wrong with alien invasions?"

"Did I ever tell you about _They Came to Conquer_?"

"That completely cheesy alien invasion flick from three or four years ago?"

"Yep. That's the one."

"No. What about it?"

"Eureka." She infused that one word with years of meaning.

"Ah." He huffed gently in wry understanding. "Okay. I'm listening."

She told him the whole ghastly story, starting with movie night and the noise complaint, about Spencer's incredible screen and overwhelming sound system, to his use of a secret GD satellite to pirate the movie. Which Zane immediately – and correctly – guessed had been in use for something else. Beaming paranoia rays into the amygdalae of test monkeys. Which she, Taggart, Vincent, Fargo and Spencer had unwittingly become. And had then proceeded to kidnap and nearly kill a visiting Congressman because they were convinced he was an alien 'come to conquer.'

He laughed at all the right places. He cringed appropriately when she got to the part about nearly slicing open a fully conscious and un-anesthetized Congressman Faraday. He asked a lot of interested and sympathetic questions about what it had felt like to have reality slip sideways out from under her.

Then, once she'd recounted, with slight embarrassment, the video Henry had selected to help her overcome the paranoia – speaking of her super butch side – his only question was, "Who was the PI on that?"

"A Dr. Evelyn Sherrod. She intimidated the hell out of Fargo, partially because I think he had a crush on her."

"Is she still in Eureka?"

"No. Her project was shelved and she left for Area 51."

"Did the same thing happen here?"

"In this Eureka? The experiment, yes. The disaster? No. Fargo and Spencer weren't tight here, so no regular movie nights. Until he left for grad school, Spencer was probably still pirating movies using GD satellites, but he managed to avoid that particular satellite that particular night. The experiment worked as advertised, the chimps ripped each other to shreds – the photos and video are appalling – but the technique really didn't have a lot of real world applications. Too random, too violent and no good way to undo it."

"Could you get me those files?"

She raised her brows. "For real?"

"Yeah. It sounds like she was trying to introduce something like a human version of computer virus, only she wasn't a coder. She didn't lock in a termination point, like a program that ends once its task is done. Organic computing has made huge strides in the last three years. Add in what we learned from that whole RSS shit storm, and I think I could."

"Zane! You have to know that's a horrifying idea!"

"True. But, you can only defend against what you've already imagined. Tell me again what it was supposed to do?"

Having their first 'real' date turn into Zane picking her brain for information on a horrifying experiment gone deadly wrong was not really the first date she'd anticipated.

On the other hand, being treated like a serious and respected co-worker with useful information to share and talk over together was – all things considered – pretty heady stuff. Highlighting many of the very best things about how he had changed and who he had become. How differently he measured her abilities. How this had transformed – whatever they were – as a result.

Being part of his process as he picked at an intriguing problem – even if she ended taking notes for him about it because for an alarming second or two he actually considered trying to make some notes himself – was also so much more fun that watching from a distance. Even when that distance had only been the other side of a breakfast table.

By the time they drew up outside the movie theater outside Klamath Falls, Jo had to exercise stern self-control to walk sedately at Zane's side, her hand firmly clasped in his, when what she wanted to do was skip and twirl her way across the parking lot.

* * *

Jo was molten, floating on a sea of what had to be pure endorphins. Amusing movie, a good meal, a little wine, easy conversation and the prospect of vigorous sex on the near horizon and she was as content as she could remember being in a really, really long time. Sixty some odd years and change, even. With the music playing softly and the hypnotic effects of staring into the bright tunnel of the headlights slicing through the night as they drove toward Eureka, she was even beginning to have trouble keeping her eyes open.

Then movement ahead of them brought her upright.

"Deer!" she cried, pointing ahead and to the left.

Framed by the headlights, a half-dozen deer were peering across the edge of the road, heads up, ears twitching, clearly thinking about making a break for it.

The deer ultimately didn't move to wander into the path of the car, and they whooshed past without incident.

There was a long, slightly prickly moment when the only sound in the car was the quiet strains of a Moby track.

"Babe." Zane's tone was calm. Perhaps a teeny-tiny bit overly so. Like he was working for it. "Please don't ever do that again."

Jo's heartbeat had returned to mostly normal. Enough to know that perhaps her first reaction on being startled by the stupid animals wasn't the best one. Just because she'd been shocked by the sight of the deer looming up practically right in front of them didn't make it an emergency. It wasn't even as though these were the first deer they'd seen since leaving the Klamath Falls.

Maybe she could bluff her way out. "Don't do what?"

"Shriek about the deer. It's a clear night with a waxing moon. I can see the deer. I don't need you to point them out. Especially while shrieking and clinging to the grab handle. That actually took my attention away from the road because I looked at you."

"I didn't shriek," she said, surreptitiously letting go of the grab handle and hoping he didn't see her do it and she could pretend her hand had always been in her lap.

"Yes. Yes, you did." Now he sounded more amused than irritated.

She really sort of had shrieked. Just a little. "Sorry."

"Hmmph," was the only acknowledgment she got for her apology. "I thought the second glass of wine was supposed to make you more relaxed."

That had been how she'd explained it, when he raised he brows at her after she ordered a refill.

He drank more in this life than his last one, but not much more, and more than half way through their meal at a local brewpub he'd finished less than half of the beer he'd ordered. She'd polished off her first glass of wine pretty quickly, mostly before their food arrived, and it had gone straight to her head. Which left her with a happy buzz, one part relief, that everything was going so well, one part contentment, the kind you feel after a good day you'd been worried about, and lots of left over parts full of anticipation, waiting for the moment she could peel him out of his clothes.

She'd settled for telling him it was nice to unwind and relax, knowing she didn't have to drive. Which was even true.

"I am relaxed. I wasn't even really watching the road."

"Hmm." There was another longish, thoughtful pause. "Does that mean that whenever you were watching the road you wanted to shriek and grab the bar?"

Oh holy hells. "No!"

"Really." His tone was very dry. Very, very dry.

"Okay," she eventually conceded, after she couldn't think of any other way to get out of it. "A little. A first. You kind of sling the car around, you know? Which is so weird. You're so careful with your lab equipment. Even your bike."

"This," he waved dismissively at the dash, "is a Grand Cherokee. A Jeep. Not a high performance vehicle. As long as you follow the recommended maintenance, they are very, very hard to break."

Jo let that sink in for a few minutes, before she allowed, "I have never considered it from quite that perspective before."

"Consider it now. And I didn't think you had. But," he added, with a self-consciously gallant air, "I will aim, in future, to be more respectful of your delicate nerves."

"I do not have …," she started out hotly, then paused and reconsidered. "You bait me on purpose to change the subject, don't you?"

"What?" he exclaimed, all wounded innocence. "Josephina Lupo! I never!"

"That," she said, "is not an answer."

"Should we talk about your preferred method for changing the subject?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head, his voice full of laughter. "Sex. Whenever we start to get into some subject that you don't want to talk about, you turn to sex as a way to avoid it."

Jo really, really wanted to object. But that was actually distressingly insightful assessment on his part, if seriously – well, medium-ishly – exaggerated. Sometimes she just said she didn't want to talk about – whatever it was. And only then would she kiss him.

She made a face at his profile. "You don't seem to object."

"Oh, I totally don't!" he acknowledged with a ready laugh. "But I have noticed."

"It's not the only reason!" Which was a weak defense, but better than nothing.

"I certainly hope not!"

"I can't help it. You're just so," she waved her hand at him, "you."

"So hot, you mean." Now he was radiating smug satisfaction.

"That is so not what I meant."

"Extremely sexy? Really good at kissing? Incredibly good at making you come?"

She flushed in the dark. And shifted in her seat, blood rushing between her legs, palms of her hands burning, intimately aware of the lace of her bra brushing her skin.

She made her tone as reproving as possible. "Yes. Those things. But gloating about them is not sexy."

"No?"

"Could you sound any more smug?"

"Probably. Give me a minute."

"I was having such a nice evening, too."

"Yeah?"

He dropped the mocking and the smug, and his question seemed very real, and the stakes, which had been low, shot very high.

"Yeah." She nodded emphatically, then remembered that he couldn't see her. "Definitely! Yes. This has been…," she caught herself short, before she wandered into territory too difficult to get back out of. At least, she twisted her lips ruefully in the dark, not without resorting to taking off her clothes. Which would be a very bad idea in a moving vehicle. "A really good date. GD's been so swamped with the Astreaus project. You and me, we haven't had much chance to just," she shrugged a little self consciously, "hang out. Be. You know, in the same place. It's been really, really nice to have a chance to do that."

And, lately, when they did make time to be in the same place with no crisis, no work thing to deal with, and no studying, they tended to spend it naked. So much so she'd had begun to worry that maybe her brave declaration that they were friends now was a lie. That just like before they had tumbled into something – what was totally unclear to her this time around – without a solid base to build from. So tonight had been a huge relief.

"Hang out while dressed, you mean," he said. The smugness was creeping back.

They'd settled for the superhero film, on the entirely rational basis that it started twenty minutes sooner than comedy and the lobby was not charming. They sat in the back row and made out like teenagers until the movie started.

And it was good. They laughed at all the same jokes. They cringed together at the stupid bits. At dinner afterwards, he egged her on when she complained, at length, about all the boneheaded implausibilities of the ambush scene. He declined her offer to listen to him complain about the mad science with a warm smile. That led to a wide-ranging discussion of fiction and suspension of disbelief and when you needed it and when you didn't, and from there, on to too many other topics to remember. Her great fear that they would have nothing to talk about, apart from Eureka, fading away the longer they lingered over coffee. Both of them, it seemed to her, reluctant to break away from the moment.

"Yes. Clothes on," she agreed.

"I've had a good time, too," he offered. He dropped his right arm to the center console and offered his hand, palm up, to her. She accepted the invitation and threaded her fingers through his, squeezing gently before letting go. Not suggesting that he put his hand back on the wheel, but relieved to see that he did.

Looking out at the road, assessing where they were, and how much time until they were back in Eureka, she said, "There's a gas station in about five miles. It's the last one until we get to Henry's, which is another twenty miles on. Could we stop? I need to pee."

"How did you manage two tours in Afghanistan? You have the smallest bladder of anyone I've ever known."

Jo shrugged. "I can pee standing up."

"With one of those funnel things?"

She curled her lip in surprise. "No! All on my own! I learned how as a kid. Camping. After my mom died. Keeping up with my brothers. So they didn't make me stay with our grandma 'cause I was a girl'."

"That is… less surprising than it ought to be." After a pause he added, "Can I watch?"

"What?!"

"I want to watch you."

"Seriously?"

"Yes." Apparently feeling something more was needed, he added, "I think that's cool, and I've never seen it done before."

"Scientific curiosity."

"Exactly."

"Hmpf." She was trying to sound dampening, but probably didn't succeed. It was a cool party trick she was proud of mastering, and a pretty useful skill in rough living situations.

"I bet I was impressed before," he said, a faint hint of wheedling in his voice.

"You were. Very. I didn't mean to show off, but you surprised me while we were camping."

"Camping? I went camping with you?"

"Yeah. Half a dozen times or more."

"Camping," he repeated. He sounded utterly astonished.

"Yes?" She frowned at him. Their first trip as a couple had been his idea. "You were really into it?"

"I haven't camped since a disastrous fathers/sons Cub Scout experience, one of the last times my dad tried to make me normal. Before he started leaving."

Something else he'd never told her before. He must have wanted to impress her so badly.

"But, you like rock climbing now?" He'd been out several times since Founder's Day. She knew for a fact. Or she'd lost her mind along with her last life. "Right?"

"Yeah. And coming home to a hot shower, cooked food and my very comfortable bed, thanks!"

"Okay. But, I think if you tried it again, with me, you'd like it. I'm sure of it, in fact." Zane was not that good of an actor. Or that generous. For her, he might have been able to fake enthusiasm through one camping trip, maybe even two. But not six.

He slowed the SUV to turn left into the service station. "Do I get to watch you pee standing up?"

"Not here!"

* * *

As she slid back into her seat, SUV already gassed up and running, she tossed a small sack into Zane's lap. "For when we get back."

He opened the bag to investigate. "I didn't know you liked Red Vines."

She'd needed an excuse to get a bag. And break some bills. "Sometimes."

"Oh." He'd found the surprise. "Jojo."

"I've always wanted to try those. The ads on the dispenser promise so much! And if you're going to think of me naked, I'd much rather it was for this."

"I," he sounded slightly strangled, "am not sure I can drive."

"Yes. You can." She plucked the sack back out of his nerveless fingers. "I'm going to pick out the one I want to try first. After you start driving."

"Yes ma'am."

He shifted smoothly into gear, and rolled out of the gas station without a single jerk, sway, or sudden lurch. Making it especially apparent that he drove roughly because he wanted too, not because he couldn't do better if he put his mind to it.

Jo started sorting through the collection of novelty condoms, using her phone light.

"You know some of them will probably break?" he said, after a contemplative mile or two.

"Yeah. Is that a problem? You know I have a contraceptive implant, right? And we've both been tested for STDs….?"

"Then, no. I guess it isn't a problem."

Despite his words, he still sounded awfully reluctant to Jo's ears.

"Do you like condoms?" she didn't mean to sound quite as incredulous as she probably did. As she actually was. He'd certainly ditched them with speed and enthusiasm the last time around.

"I have never not used them. I know you think I play fast and loose with things, but not this. Never this."

"Would it be a big…" she couldn't think of a better word, "thing not to use them?"

"Thing?"

"Like, emotionally."

"Maybe?"

"No rush, then."

"You don't like them?"

"No. I don't. Not if I have the option not to use them."

"Huh."

"Huh what?"

"You don't like condoms, you can pee standing up, and you think you can teach me to like camping. You are quite the woman, Josephina Lupo."

Great. Back to being a butch stereotype. "Thanks? I think?"

"I definitely meant it as a compliment."

"Then, thank you." She still added the 'I think,' but only inside her head.

"You're welcome."

Jo couldn't think of a single thing to say next, and apparently he couldn't either.

As the silence lengthened, she began to wonder if she'd made a mistake with the condoms. Shocked his sensibilities – as impossible as she would have thought that was before now. To be honest, she'd sort of shocked herself. Giving into an impulse she'd often had, staring at that particular dispenser in that same ladies room on her rare trips away from Eureka, but had never had the guts to act on. Before now.

Finally, she said, "We don't have to use these."

"Oh, no. I definitely didn't say that either. What did you get?"

"A 'French flair tip' and a 'passion pleaser'," she looked over and waited a beat to catch his eye, then held up two fingers and wiggled them in illustration, "with prongs."

"Prongs." He nodded, grinning back out at the road. "Okay. I'm totally in."

"A three pack with ridges and bumps 'to make her beg for more.' And some that glow in the dark."

"Mm. Ambitious."

He didn't sound daunted in the slightest.

She glanced at him again. He caught her eye and winked.

She grinned. "Confidant."

The headlights picked out the "Welcome to Eureka" sign.

"Good thing we're almost home," he said.


End file.
